THE BOND IDENTITY
by Art Anthony
Summary: Living up to the family legacy is a tall order under the most normal of circumstances. How much more so when your father was considered the greatest spy the world has ever seen? Welcome to Holly's world.
1. Case One: File 1: The Invite

**THE BOND IDENTITY**

**FILE HB007/001**

The name is Bond. Holly Bond. And I am a spy.

Which generally means, I get to spend a lot of time undercover. Not to be confused with spending a lot of time _under_ the covers, although I do my fair share of _that_, too. All part of the job of course.

Now, going undercover normally entails having to bring down your average sociopathic megalomaniac. That's, 'Bad guy', to you. And the great contradiction with this particular type of criminal, is that they all want to rule the world, but are forever bent on _destroying_ it. Like, seriously guys, make up your mind?

One such walking oxymoron, is Dorian Grey. Yea, like the famous oil painting but _After_ the man himself looked at it! All old, grey and sagging and held together with bits of social tape. Although that doesn't stop him constantly being surrounded by a bevy of beauties, like some underworld version of Hugh Hefner.

But big Hugh's not my assignment. Not today, anyway.

I emerge from the sea and begin peeling my wetsuit off like a banana skin. The thinly veiled lycra top I'm wearing underneath, neatly stretches downwards to produce a nifty black all-in-one figure-hugging number. The sweet pairing of titanium stilettos and matching airings, stashed in my small water-resistant satchel, completes my new ready-to-wear outfit. Lastly, I turn the satchel itself inside out, transforming it into the perfect minimalist handbag, and ditch the wetsuit. Perfection.

"How's the outfit, Holly?" screams the high-pitched voice into my ear, courtesy of the state-of-the-art two-way voice receiver built into the airings.

"Dammit, Q!" I say. "You could have at least tested the damn noise levels, _before_ bleeding my eardrums dry?"

"My bad!" comes his usual less than genuine reply. "Testing, testing, 1,2,3!"

"The only thing your testing right now, Nerd, is my patience!" I tell him. "The dress fits just fine. The shoes, on the other hand, are a little on the tight side."

"New shoes always take a while to wear in." he tells me. "But you wont believe how much cool stuff I've crammed into them!"

"Yeah, and I'm sure you had a ball, test-driving them back at the lab!" I tell him, always one to seize an opening.

"I... well... a lot could'a gone wrong... you know? So... err... ok, I was just..."

Well that backfired in the most awkward of ways. Guess I know what the 'Q' stands for.

"Ok, so what's my intel?" I ask, attempting the first rescue of the day.

"Dorian Estavez Grey. Corporate mogul and owner of Greystoke Energy Enterprises: _'Power to the People... _blah, blah, blah'. Says here, he's a regular contributor to over a dozen charities, three-time winner of the 'Humanitarian of The Year' award, annual local beauty pageant sponsor... But flip the coin and we're talking links to the Cartel, money laundering, sex trafficking... it's like, Jekyll and Hyde on crack!"

"Aren't they all? And the details?"

"Your cover will be; _Miss Indie Pendant._.. see what I did there?"

"I'm in awe of your greatness."

"Whatever. You're attending a private function, posing as an exotic wannabe model. A stretch, I know, but I think you'll be ok. Alright, adding you to the guest list... now! Should be live on their PDA systems. Once you're in, you need to make your way to the 4th room, on the 4th floor, that's room number 4-4..."

"4?"

"3! Close."

"Then I crack the safe, bag the goods, and make like a leaf! Got it."

"Tree. Holly, it's 'make like a tree... and leaf'!"

"You still there? Oh, I'm sorry, I thought I requested radio silence!"

"What? Now hang on there, you can't-" Oh, but I can, Nerd. And I just did. Best thing about the two-way radio is I have control of the on/off switch. Ah Q, annoying as heck, but _still_ the smartest guy in the room. Even when he's not actually _in_ the room. Makes the task of 'living up to your father's legacy', a simple stroll in the park. I, on the other hand, am having no such luck.

I get my head back into the game and set off towards my objective. Time to go to work. The air is warm, the gentle breeze soothing and the sun setting in the distance over the sea, hypnotic. What I'd give to be able to call in sick.

Eventually, I arrive at the location in question. As I look up at the magnificent architecture on display, I cant help but wonder, for the briefest of moments, wether I'm in the right paying job. This guy _obviously_ has more money than blood cells, and probably a fraction of the bureaucratic crap i have to deal with on a day to day, to boot. The car park alone is half the size of a football field, and the cars it plays host to, the best that money _can't buy_. Haven't seen a selection like this since I last ran a circuit on Forza 5.

Creative credit to the two slabs of hired muscle guarding the main gate up ahead who, combined, manage to pull off the perfect visual representation of Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber. But even _they_ should have no problem succumbing to the classic _'damsel in this dress_' approach. See what I did there? Im wasted.

I attach a small transmitter to the undercarriage of the first vehicle I come across, a back-up plan just in case, then I make my way over to the main gate.

Up close, the two human road blocks are no less intimidating. But to a girl like me, theyre just the kind of blokes I love to slam through a brick wall on an ordinary day. But this mission's a simple snatch & run low profile affair, so the aim will be to maintain cover and not draw unwanted attention.

I arrive at the gate and make small talk with the marginarily smaller of the two in my best 'southern ditzy blonde' impersonation.

"Evening y'all" I beam. "Hope ah haven't missed the entertainment?"

"Honey, from where I'm standing, you _are_ the entertainment." he replies. I'm sure there's a compliment in there somewhere. "To who do I owe the pleasure, Miss...?"

"Pendant. Indie Pendant." Sounds worse coming out of my mouth, than it did going into my ears.

"That's a pretty little name. And an even prettier little dress. But I'm afraid you'll be needing a whole lot _more_ if you're planning on getting into here." he warns.

"Oh, ya'll mean lika ah invitation? Why dont'cha go ahead, check that list'a yours for my pretty lil name."

He then whips out from behind his back... a clipboard. A frigging clipboard! Like, who uses those things these days? Really?

"My my... would you look at that! Good ole fashion pen and paper." I remark nervously, weighing up my options. "People still use those?"

"Had some weird EMP surge trigger off earlier." he explains as he rifles through the list with his index finger. "temporarily shut down most of our internal systems, electronic devices, surveillance... say, you wouldnt happen to know anything about that would you?"

He's suspicious. Something else has happened here, got them all on alert. And I'm losing precious time.

"Honey," I laugh. "I don't even know what a 'EMP' is! Sounds like a... tropical disease!"

He smiles at me politely before announcing. "Nope. No 'Miss Pendant' anywhere. Seems the only place your name is written, is in my _heart_."

Any other day, I'd _happily_ enjoy making that line of his a brutal reality. But this isnt that day. Meanwhile, the bigger guy, sensing some action, begins shifting the weight in his stance, unfolds his arms and tilting his head to one side. Standard 'bouncer school' procedure, I'm guessing.

It's about to kick off.

Time for plan B Holly. And pray Q hasn't screwed that one up too.


	2. Case One: File 2: The Mansion

**********FILE HB007/002**

The Grey mansion. Puerto Rico.

Mission's not even started and already a minor hiccup. Luckily, I have a back up plan.

Meanwhile, the 'Legion of Doom' twins are growing more and more restless.

"Relax." I tell them as I rummage through my handbag. "I've got an invite in writing here... somewhere." I find the trigger device disguised as a cigarette lighter and hand it to them.

"Here, hold this for me while I look, would you?"

Give a child a toy, and they can't help but play with it. Sure enough, he flicks the lighter open, and the mother of all distractions kicks off. The device I planted under the car, Q refers to as a 'Sub Wave Transmitter', which is geek-speak for 'sets off car alarms using high frequency vibrations'.

The noise is deafening. And within seconds, the two heavies have set off towards the parking lot to investigate, leaving me a clear path into the premises.

As two more heavies brush past me en route to assist the other two outside, I take a moment or two to take in the grand spectacle that is the interior of the mansion. A vast open area leads into the entrance to the main hall. That entrance, framed either side with two huge ascending staircases steeped in gold varnish, snaking upwards along the wall to meet at a neutral point, four floors up, above the main hall doorway. Abstract workings of high value art, immaculately positioned, adorn every wall space. A palace fit for a king. Or is that, King-pin? Im on a roll.

I smile at a passing waiter and swipe a glass of champagne from his tray, before entering into the main hall.

Inside, the party is in full swing. Every guest appears to be somebody important. Politicians, media reps, not to mention the dozen or so dolly birds dotted amongst them.

My entrance manages to turn a few heads. One dolly bird in particular, brunette, european, gives me 'harsh' eyes, like I was a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit the puzzle. Which, of course, I am. But still gives her no right.

I squint my eyes back so hard, I nearly cry blood. She winks, and instantly returns her attention to the round bloke, trying desperately hard to convince her to accompany him to one of the many guest rooms. Something weird about the set-up.

Then I see him. The grande host of the show. Still old as stale bread, with a complexion to match. I slip into standard flirt mode every guy's a sucker for. He spots me and stares. I look away. He turns away. I look at him. He catches me looking in the corner of his eye. He turns... you get the point.

I stroll over to another waiter in the corner of the room, grab another glass and play the waiting game. Time enough for a quick check-in with Q. I open up the channel.

"Nerd, I'm in." Silence.

"Nerd, do you read me?" At first I'm thinking, its a malfunction. Then I get it. "Oh grow up, will you? Now's not the time for throwing your toys!"

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" comes the eventual reply.

"Well 'want' is a tad exaggerated... anyway, I'm in. And I've made eye contact with the secondary target."

"So, all's going smoothly, I take it."

"Like sandpaper, syrup-dipped in broken glass!"

"Right. Okay. I'm sorry, was that sarcasm, I can't quite...?"

"I need confirmation on the 'mark' before I can make my play."

"You'll need to get in close, for the audio-scan to get a clear pick-up. Then you'll need a set of clean prints to crack the safe. It'll presumably be a class 5, so 'pretty good' won't cut it."

"Ok, I'm on it, already. Just give me the-"

"You too, huh?" The voice comes from behind, startling me. Shouldn't have happened. I turn to see the rat has clearly taken to the bait.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, absentmindedly.

"I regularly have moments, where I can only be intellectually stimulated by having lenthy conversations with myself." he continues to explain. The guy's so full of himself, its a wonder he isn't suffering from obesity. I respond with a sheepish smile.

"Your face. It doesn't seem... familiar." he enquires rather sceptically. Time to think quick on my feet and pray Q will bring a rabbit out of the hat.

"You mean... you really don't recognise me?" I ask. The conviction throws him off guard.

"Nope. I'd... definitely remember a face its dicu,t to fathom how one could forget such an exquisitely beautiful visage."

"Flattery will get you everywhere money can't!" I laughs

"Well its a good thing I have a healthy supply of both, Miss...?" he smiles back

"Pendant. Indie Pendant." Nope. Still sucks.." he tells me, his curiosity now morphing into suspicion. Q, where the heck are you?

"Got it!" he screams into my ear. Better late than never. "Pittsburg, Red Iron nightclub. He attends once a year for an overnight session of... ok Holly, probably better you... don't know."

"I'm waiting." His voice drops an octave. I'd say, 5 or so seconds away from calling security.

"Red Iron, Pittsburg...?" I tell him. Then watch him shift uncomfortably. "I know we had a great time and all, but..."

"Right, right." he tells me in hushed tones. "Sorry, so many girls and so many 'white lines' that night, I wouldn't remember my own father. Whoever he is. Just as well too, kind of stuff that goes on in that crazy place."

We burst into harmoniously awkward laughter.

"Well I remember you promising me I could drop in whenever I was in town. So, here I am."

"Here you are. Next time, a phone call would probably help."

"With what?" I ask.

"My wife not being jealous. I can feel the witches eyes burning into my back as we speak."

I glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, she's watching. And to his credit, she does in fact look like a witch.

But she's not my immediate cause for concern. Nope, that'll be Tweedle's Dumb and Dumber, briskly making their way through the guests to our very location.

"Mr Grey, sir!" he says

"I'm busy."

"I know sir, but..."

"I'm busy."

"Forgive me, sir, but..."

"Why are you both not at your post?"

"Trying to explain, sir. This woman..."

"Is my guest! And has more right to be here, in this very hall, than either of you. Do you know why? Because she was not hired to man the front door. You both were. 'Were' being the operative word, because as of now, you are both relieved of that duty. Permanently. Do I make myself clear?

Ouch. Kind of feel it for these guys. Nah, they deserved it.

As the two exchange hapless looks with each other and leave, the talker of the two shoots me a glare, no polarised filter could block.

"Forgive their... rudeness."

"Nothing to forgive." I tell him. "they were only doing their..."

A scream, from one of the guests, interrupts. We both turn to see a commotion stirring. A small group have gathered in a small circle, somethings happened. I sneak a peek, catching a glimpse of whats going on. One of the guests, male, is on the floor, convulsing. Foam trickling out of the corner of his mouth. I recognise him. The rotund guy who was hitting on the brunette earlier. The brunette who, coincidently, is nowhere to be seen.

Grey excuses himself, places his glass on a nearby table and makes his way over to give the matter his full attention.

Time to check-in with Q.

"You still there, Nerd?" I whisper.

"Barely, that whole scenario was... intense! I think I may have soiled myself."

"Just another day in the 'orifice' for you, right?"

"Oh, arent we just full of zingers today?"

"Nope. Just me. Do we have confirmation?"

"Yes. Voice-recog is a match, he's not a double. Did you get the prints?" I glance over at the stranded glass on the table.

"That's a positive. And we have ourselves a bona fide distraction."

"Alright then, time to go to work!"

To be continued...


	3. Case One: File 3: The Gatecrasher

**THE SE7EN ORIGINS: THE BOND IDENTITY**

**FILE HB007/003**

Grey's residence.

The commotion downstairs continues to provide a suitable cover, as I arrive at the designated room on the fourth floor. One of many doors that trail off far into the distance. I've managed to cleave a strong set of prints, from the glass Grey left behind, for the safe inside. So far, so routine.

"443. I'm here." I announce to Q.

"Alright," he begins. "Now, the heel of your left shoe, should twist and slide out to make a state-of-the-art skeleton lock pick."

"Nice. And what does the other make, an electric toothbrush?"

"Not the time, Holly!"

Q, always an easy target. 4.8 seconds later and the lock's as good as picked. Good thing too, as I hear footsteps approaching from the main staircase.

I make it in, just in time, and resume radio silence.

Inside, the room appears to be an ordinary office. Desk, leather sofa with a picture of some old guy hanging above it. To the left, a large book case. To the back, double venetian doors that lead out towards the... wait. The painting. Its not straight. The guy's way too hung up on detail to let an imperfection like that pass. And it's as likely a place to hide a safe as any. But if It's been tampered with, the question remains, by whom?

I walk over to it, and slowly reach up to take it down. Then I notice it. A reflection in its glass. Moving. Behind me!

I duck, just in time, as an object imbeds itself into the painting's surface at extremely high velocity, and take cover behind the sofa. Was it a knife? I look up and see... a pen. Wait, a pen? Guess it really is mightier than the sword.

"Look, whoever you are, I have no issue with you." I tell them. "This doesn't have to get personal."

Silence. I read it as a mute agreement and slowly tilt my head out from behind the sofa. Two more pens, bury themselves into the sofa's arm, mere inches from my face. Wrong call, on my part.

"Right then!" I shout out. "Let's chalk that one up to 'miscommunication' and move on, shall we? Now, I'm making a presumption that English is not your first language, so l'll put this to you as plainly as possible; Stand down, or I will take you down."

More silence. Damn.

My eyes scout around the room for anything that will give me an edge, and catch a reflection of the attacker from a picture frame on the book case. Its the 'missing' hot brunette from downstairs. Now the pieces fit. Time to switch tactics.

"I take it the walking paperweight, chocking on his own vomit downstairs, was your idea? Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain 'power surge' earlier on too, would you? If I'm on to you, how long before they are too? Only a matter of time, honey. Maybe we can work something out?"

I need just the briefest of distractions to have a clear shot. I retrieve the lock-pick out of the shoe once more. Then I go for the second shoe, which turns out to have a USB key at the other end. Handy for downloading data. Not so much for killing with. For now, they'll both have to do.

I wait for my window of opportunity. Then I hear it. We both hear it. Voices, coming from outside, down the hallway.

"We're on the fourth floor now sir." the voice bellows into a radio. "Commencing a search of every room, now!"

My cue! I take the window of opportunity and launch myself off of the sofa towards her, weapons first, and drive the lock-pick into her left shoulder. She doesn't scream. She doesn't even flinch. What she does do, is drive her knee clear into my chin, and with considerable force. It hurts. I wince and respond with a side kick into her stomach that launches her, clean off the ground, and over the desk behind her. We both hit the floor together, catching a moments breath.

The table. An overturned pen holder rolls along it, stopping dead in front of her eyes. Damn, more pens.

She grabs a handful and begins hurling them at me, one by one, like throwing stars. A cushion I grab from the sofa, does a poor impression of a shield. But then, it is only a cushion.

I decide to hurl it at her, another distraction, while I get in close, making surgical swipes with my dagger-like weapons. But she artfully manages to bob and weave around them, before sending them both, sailing through the open window with a two-stage precision roundhouse kick. I'd applaud her style, if my hands didnt hurt so damn much. She's really good. I connect with my own kick to the side of her head, with as much force as I can muster. She doesn't go down. Why the heck doesn't she go down?

I make a dive over the desk at her, taking it as close-quarters as I can. We tussle, roll and trade punches to the ribs. She manages to get on top, lock me down and get three unanswered blows in. But I'm letting her. Positioning my body at just the right angle, before bringing my right leg over her head and forcing it into the ground. Hard. Then I wrap my arm around her exposed arm and pull with all my might, until it pops. A swift follow-up side-kick to the jaw, and I roll backwards onto my feet.

I get up. Barely. And stand there, exhausted, bruised, and trying real hard not to show it. Pride can be a dangerous thing. I hobble over to what's left of the desk and rummage through the papers. Something caught my eye before. Blueprints, bank transactions, telephone numbers... there. A single sheet of paper. On it, a grid of letters. What does it mean? Q. I need him. I re-open communications.

"...Q?"

"Where the bloody heck have you been, sunning yourself on the sandy shores of...?"

"Not now, damn it! There was... somebody already here... a professional... she's good. Probably, best Ive fought... was barely able to..." And that's when I notice it.

Now, I'm not one for chills, and things that go 'bump' in the night, barely register to me when my head hits that pillow. But even I have to admit to feeling a slight unease, as I look down to where the body was, only moments ago, to find nothing is now there.

The window. She's taken it, for sure. But how? Without me even noticing? And with all the pain she must be in?

"She's gone." I tell Q.

"Gone? Who's gone? Gone where? What the bloody...?"

"No time, Q. Ok, by the looks of it, she's already been at the safe and emptied its contents over the table, so what am I looking for?"

"Ahh... right... okay... are you hurt?"

"Q!"

"Sure, sure. Okay... It's a list... of sorts... they call it; 'The Bucket List'."

"Are you telling me, M sent me all this way to..."

"No, no, it's not **a** bucket list, it's _**The**_ Bucket List. A list of... well, I'm not too sure what it's a list of. But I do know it's important enough to have Quantum bid a considerable amount of capital to obtain it."

"Well, there's a... sheet of paper... rows and rows of letters on it... I don't know, maybe coded?" I suggest, cluelessly.

"Maybe. Just might be a way to find out. is there a laptop nearby?"

I look around. "There is, but guaranteed its encrypted."

"Not an issue. Slide out the heel of your _right_ shoe and you'll see a handy USB algorithm converter. Just slide that bad boy into the laptop, and the auto-decrypt software should kick in. Should take no more than a couple of minutes."

"Holly? You're awfully quite."

"Ahh... Could be a slight problem with the ole... USB... thingy... plan." I tell him.

"You have no idea." comes the voice behind me. I spin around to see four of Grey's heavies standing there, including the two from the front door earlier. Still enough juice left in me to take them all down, though. If they weren't heavily armed, that is.

Which they are.

So I don't.

Guess Tweedledum gets to keep his job after all.

To be continued...


	4. Case One: File 4: The Pet

**THE SE7EN ORIGINS: THE BOND IDENTITY**

**FILE HB007/004**

Grey's residence. Room 443.

Yep, I'm still here. And still neck deep in it. 'It' being, a bad situation gone considerably worse. A situation I'm stumped to see an exit out of any time soon. Im tired. Beaten. And tired of being beaten. Strapped to a chair and circled like shark bait by the four stooges, surrounding me, while I wait for the host of this private little party to appear. The only ace in my favour being the genius kid on the outside listening in, Q. Who's hopefully working fast on a way to get me the heck out of here!

"Sorry Holly, without an extraction approval, I'd say you're chances of surviving this one, are slimmer than an anorexic needle on a no-fat diet."

What can I say, he's a born pessimist.

"But then I say that every mission, and you always manage to find a way."

"Shut up, will you? You might jinx it." I tell him, trying to play down the bleak situation. Naturally, I'm the only one who can hear his voice, so from the outside looking in I appear to have... Issues.

"Crazy woman, stop talking to self! Wait for boss man in silence." shouts the eloquently-challenged big guy. So, that's why he never spoke earlier.

"What my considerably large friend here's trying to tell you," explains Tweedledum. "Is it's better you save your voice for when Mr Grey arrives. Trust me, when I say you will need it. I, on the other hand, am more than happy for him to just let me torture answers out of you." he smiles, with a dark twinkle in his eye.

"But maybe you want to save me the effort, no? And tell me who you work for, and what business you have here?"

"Told ya already... needed the bathroom..." I say, somewhat flippantly.

"Oh yes, that's right, you did. And quite badly too, it would seem." he laughs, motioning with his hand to the surrounding devastation that was once a tidy office.

"Look, it's a big place, ok? I... took a wrong turn and... ended up in this room. It was dark... couldn't find the light switch and... stumbled into... something... everything... actually."

Silence.

"Wow, Holly, exactly how hard did she hit you?" asks Q.

"Give me a break will you, Im tired." I tell him.

"Well, you're gonna be dead tired, real soon!" laughs my interrogator.

It won't win him votes for originality, but he's got a point. When Grey gets here, he'll push hard for answers, put a bullet in me, then disappear back downstairs before desert is served. Time is not on my side.

"Worse thing is, fella's," I tell them. "I still need the bathroom! Maybe it was the champagne... but look, I promise you I'll be right back!"

The big guy steps forward and reaches out to loosen my ropes. 'Tweedle' slaps the back of his head, hard, and tells him to go stand by the door. I'd have a good giggle over it, but my ribs are still aching from the pounding they took earlier.

Enter Grey, and immediately the room temperature seems to drop a few degrees.

"Radio silence, Nerd." I whisper without moving my lips, just loud enough for Q to hear, as Grey, calmly unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls the sleeves to his arms. All done for effect, naturally. He then approaches me, confidently and leans in, looking me dead in the eye.

"My apologies for being late, my dear." he tells me, unnervingly.

"That's... alright." I reply.

He continues. "Now, Ive just had a very interesting conversation with a friend of mine from overseas. Would you like to guess what it was about? In fact, is there anything at all you'd like to say to me, at all?"

Ok think, Holly. Opportunity's here to make a smart play. "You... have a really nice place, sir. Really. You do." Damn. Brain's gone half to sleep.

"Does the name 'Mikhail Doliński' mean anything to you?" he asks. Something weird about his tone. He knows something, or thinks he does. Either way, need to buy Q some time to run a check on that name.

"Well, let's see;" I begin. "'Mikhail' is the Russian name for Michael. Which happens to be the name of my ex-boyfriend. But he was from Kansas. 'Doliński' actually derives from the word 'Dolina', which translates into the word 'valley', which can also..."

"You think this is a game?" he asks calmly.

Then suddenly he grabs my jaw in a vice-like grip. The veins in his forehead and neck, pulsating like they are about to explode. His cigar-stained breath, seeping into the skin on my face, as a nervous twitch dominates his right eye. A clear shot at a head-butt presents itself. It would take him down or, at the very least, blind him momentarily. But they'd still be four more of these clowns to contend with. And I'd still be strapped to this bloody chair.

Eventually he releases his hold and stands back, wringing his hands. "Forgive me, my dear. I can be quite... highly strung at times."

"Yeah, me too..." I gasp. "Especially when my sugar level's in the red." Cue Q, with an update. "Dolińsk, Mikhail; born 1948, in the city of Samara, Russia. Political activist with suspected ties to the Russian Mob. A big player on both sides of the field. If he's involved in something, you can be sure that 'thing' isn't good."

"Now tell me," continues Grey. "Why are you here and are you alone?"

"Yes, I'm alone!" I tell him. "And I have no idea who that person is! I swear. And as I told your pet monkeys earlier, I was actually looking for the bathroom, before I stumbled... quite literally... Into this room."

He pauses for a second. "'Pet monkeys?'" he repeats, smiling to himself, as he looks around the room to each of his men. All of whom are clearly rilled by the description. All but the big guy, who giggles to himself hysterically, before abruptly stopping, realising he's the only one laughing. Comedy gold, I tell you.

"It's funny you should say that." continues Grey, before walking over to one of them and whispering into his ear in spanish. I only manage to catch three words. 'Go get it.' But it's more than enough to give me a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.

As the heavy exits the room, Grey turns his attention back to me. His eyes, glancing over at the desk behind me, where the collection of sensitive documents still lie exposed. "I trust whatever you found in my safe was of great interest to you and your people?" he asks.

"Err... safe? What safe? There's a safe in here? And what 'people'?" I ask, confusingly.

"How long do you plan on continuing this charade... special agent.. Alexia... Bourne?"

"Who?" whispers Q in my ear, echoing my own confused thoughts. "Stall them Holly, running a background check on both names." Right. Stall them. No problem.

"Alexia Josephine Bourne." continues Grey, smugly. "Orphaned child, presumed missing at the tender age of 8, only to re-emerge into society at the adult age of 19. Having been recruited into a special black ops programme named: Operation Blackbriar, where she underwent years of extensive training in various forms of combat, espionage, assassination... Now works high-op missions, unsanctioned and completely off record- I feel quite honoured, actually. Oh, have I... missed anything out?"

Guess that saves Q the bother on that name.

"Yes, actually." I reply. "You missed out the bit about me being a member of the local bridge club. And that I also enjoy a spot of needle stitch at the weekends. I could knit you a sweater, if you like? XXXL, am I right?"

Right. As in 'Right cross'. As in, the one he swings that almost dislocates my jaw, telling me I've pushed one button too many. Bad move, Holly. because, even worse, the blow knocks my earring transmitter clean off and onto the floor. Now I really am on my own.

"So, you now know, that I know who you are, and where you are from, yes? The question still remains, 'what are you doing here?' I take it I have you to thank for my guest downstairs departing. Permanently?"

"Who, that chubby guy? Oh, he was the real life of the party. I could tell."

"An investor. Of sorts." bemuses Grey. "Missed by half the female guests tonight, I am sure. But still, he had his various uses."

"Let me guess, he was also your personal trainer?" I pipe up, at this stage figuring I have nothing to lose.

"That mouth of yours, as beautiful as it is, can be quite ugly at times. I will miss it." he says, with almost believable sincerity.

Enter his henchman, with a large red box. I note a beed of sweat streaming down the side of his face and feel a faint tightening in my stomach.

"Ah, here we are. Tell me, Miss Bourne, you mentioned pets, earlier on. Are you a lover of pets?"

"Well, I... once had a Chihuahua named Lucky. He got crushed under a parked car."

Cue a big belly laugh from the big guy once more, only this time he's joined by the rest of the gang. Even Grey manages a faint smirk. Something's wrong.

"A man of my wealth acquires many pets, as you can imagine." he begins. "My favourite of which, is Vincent. Named after the great painter. I'm a lover of art, you see."

"Yes, that much... I've gathered." I say. Still trying to shake off that feeling.

Then the box is opened and Grey takes out... a snake. A frigging 5ft snake!

"Vincent is a Thamnohis Siritalis." he informs me.

"Really? Kinda... looks like a snake to me." I tell him.

"Eastern Garter Snake, to be precise. Did you know the male garter snake, at times, produces both male and female pheromones? During mating season, this ability fools other males into attempting to mate with them. Fascinating."

"I'm sorry, did you say something? I kind of drifted off for a moment there." I tell him, trying to buy myself more time. But now realising I have none.

"Your 'informant' in Russia turns out to be an old acquaintance of mine. It would seem his conscience got the better of him and he called to warn me of a 'dangerous woman', who had threatened his life in exchange for information about me and my organisation. Never said you were... so beautiful, though."

"Well, you know what they say; one woman's natural beauty is another woman's plastic surgery."

"He has betrayed you, Miss Bourne. And from the level of information he has supplied me about you, it appears someone in your organisation has betrayed you, too. Would you like to know the name of that... mole?"

"Sure. I mean, if you don't mind?"

"Anything to make you're feeling of betrayal that much more... complete." he smiles. "Does the name Stewart Thomas Mathewson, ring a bell?"

"You telling me it was that... snake?" I improvise. "After... everything I did for him?"

Grey smiles. Well, grimaces, anyway. Then nods for his muscle to walk over and restrain me.

"Oh I get it. Trying to scare me, right? But if I remember, Garter snakes aren't venomous. So I guess you'll need to switching to plan B. If you really want to scare me, you could always have your hideous wife show her face again?"

He's not taking the bait. Ignoring me completely. This is going bad and I am bone dry on options.

"I'm being serious." I tell him, desperately. "Your going to have to do a lot more, if you expect me to talk."

"Talk?" he asks, puzzled. "No Miss Bourne, I expect you to die!"

He nods to one of his muscles, and the big dumb one grabs my jaw and forces it wide open. The brute's insanely strong. I struggle with everything I have, but by this stage, it isn't much.

Then Grey walks over to me, calmly, the snake wriggling in his hands, and smiles to himself with glee. Clearly he's done this before and is relishing every moment of it.

The snake, it's millimetres from my face, it's piercing eyes casting my own reflection, staring deep into my very soul.

"Did you also know the Eastern Garter Snake gives birth to up to 50 live young at a y given time? Contemplate these wonderful facts as you choke. As it borrows itself deep into your stomach. And pray you don't survive the journey. Goodbye, Miss Bourne." he laughs.

All I can do is hope that my father, wherever he is, will avenge me.

To be continued...


	5. Case One: File 5: The Unexpected

**THE SE7EN ORIGINS: THE BOND IDENTITY**

**FILE HB007/005**

The name is bond, holly bond. And i am... alive?

Not quite sure how or why, as it all happened so fast.

Scattered on the ground around me, is what used to be Dorian Grey along with four of his former employees. I use the term 'used to be', because each of them are now lying there with a bullet hole where a forehead used to be. Courtesy of five rifle shots, fired with pinpoint accuracy. Impressive, taking into account the trees at the back of the house must be at least 60 yards away. Impressive, especially for a one-armed assassin. That is, if my hunch is right regarding the identity of the shooter.

But enough with the deliberating, time to make good with my escape.

I begin rocking the chair, left then right, until eventually it topples over. Then I wriggle myself free like the snake I almost swallowed only moments ago. The very same snake I accidentally land _on_ with my chair. Make that _'through_'. My bad.

That's when I see it.

Underneath the desk, attached behind one of the legs, a small electronic device that looks a lot like a high-end government issue radio transmitter. My hunch proves right. She was listening in the whole time, playing me as bait. Got to love her style.

But at least it goes some way to confirm she's somehow tied in with us 'good guys'. Still not buying any of that 'super soldier' crap, though. Either way, I'm guessing I now have two options before me. One, I go through the front door, and risk getting shot down by the rest of Grey's flying monkeys. Two, I go through the office window right here, but then I'm guessing there's a strong chance the super non-syllabic Miss Bourne may do likewise.

But then Im guessing, if she really wanted to do that, I wouldn't be alive to be making all these damn guesses in the first place. So, window it is.

"Ok 'Bourne' or whatever your real name is." I announce, into her transmitter. "By now you must know, I pose you no real threat. That we're both fighting on the same side, figuratively speaking. So when I stand up... slowly, with my hands in the air... I need to know everything will be... cool... between us. Ok?"

Silence. I hate it. But I have to read it as an agreement. Even though last time, doing so nearly cost me my life.

I quickly check the discarded earring transmitter on the floor for a signal. Nothing.

Then, I crawl over to 'Tweedle Dumb's' now rotting carcass and rifle through his pockets for the lighter I handed him back at the door. I find it, then stand, real slow, hands in the air. No sudden moves.

Nothing. No bullets. Cool.

I quickly stand on the desk and use the lighter to trigger off the water sprinklers. The water will drench the guests and staff alike, who'll in turn, exit the building in a blind panic. Easy cover, for when I make my dive into the pool in the back yard. Good thing I memorised the basic ground schematics, pre-mission.

I swiftly gather a handful of 'important looking' papers from the desk, before shoving them into my handbag and making my way over to the nearby window balcony.

Still so many questions that need answering. Hopefully, Q would have found some on my return. What is The Bucket List? Grey's connection to Quantum? The Russian informant's connection to Grey. Not forgetting this whole 'Operation Blackbriar' story. That reminds me...

"Look, Bourne," I shout out once more. "If you're still listening, I just wanted to say... about the arm... I'm sorr-" I never get to finish my sentence, as a 33mm bullet rips through the side of my arm. Agony doesn't even come close. Guess this pretty much makes us even. Guess I should have kept my pretty mouth shut.

Downstairs, the commotion caused by the alarm continues to send everyone scurrying out of the building. As I stand there, in pain, on the edge of the balcony about to jump, blood slowly trickling out of my arm, I can't help but chuckle to myself.

"Standard snatch and dash, eh? When is it ever?"

To be continued...


	6. Case One: File 6: The Debrief

**FILE HB007/006**

MI6 HQ. London. Reception.

I'm sitting there in my Armani power suit and freshly dressed arm bandage, waiting to be seen, outside M's office. Having already submitted a mission report for Puerto Rico, his request to see me could only be viewed as a very good thing or very bad. I'm hoping for the former. But who am I kidding?

At the moment, he's tied up in some important meeting with an oversees correspondent. The waiting's making me nauseous.

Eventually, the door to his office opens and out walks... a man I don't quite recognise. 50's, slightly rotund, dressed in a sharp grey stripped suit. He smiles at me politely, before heading off towards the main lobby lifts. Curious.

"M will see you now, Miss Bond." announces the elderly secretary at the desk, before returning her gaze to the flickering laptop screen in front of her.

"Thank you Miss Moneypenny." I reply, as I make my way into the room.

As I enter the office, I see M standing by the window behind his desk. He's gazing out of it, blankly, hands clasped firmly behind his back. I help myself to a seat at his desk and wait silently while he remains standing there, somewhat enigmatically.

"Bond." he finally greets me. His tone's a bit off.

"M?" I reply, likewise.

"How was Puerto Rico?"

"Wet. Is there an update on the intel I brought back? Its been 48 hours?"

"Still being processed." he replies, before returning to an awkward silence. Its like being back at boarding school all over again, called into the head office, then given the silent treatment as part of my punishment as I sit there contemplating my fate.

"You saved a lot of young lives by eliminating Grey, and crippling his operation." he opens up, tone still way off.

"A lot of young lives that would no doubt owe you their gratitude. Had they known of your actual existence, that is." he continues. Where is he going with this?

"The fact they get to trade modern day slavery for a 'normal' life, is gratitude enough, I think." comes my reply.

"The problem with this world we live in, Bond, is that 'normal' tends to be an increasingly relative term. One man's disgust, can easily become another man's obsession. Who's to say which is 'normal'? Some would go as far as to argue that its not our place to decide."

"And they usually turn out to be the one's with the most to hide."

"Indeed. And _that's_ where we come in. We observe, we plan, _then_ we make our move. And **not** a moment sooner!"

"I'm sorry M, but is there a _point_ to all of this...?"

He turns around to face me for the first time. He's angry alright. Showing incredible restraint, but definitely out for my blood.

"A point? The 'point' Bond, is that you were given specific orders to retrieve that intel without incident. An order you have been given, countless times before. An order you have failed to _follow_, countless times before!"

"Ok... aren't you forgetting that lovely speech about... 'gratitude'... and...?"

He cuts me dry. "Do you know the number of years that have gone into planing this operation? The 'point' of which, Bond, was to apprehend every member of Quantum at precisely the same time!"

"M..."

"The 'point' of which, was to prevent a situation where, say, the other members of that particular clandestine group, upon hearing of the death of one of their own, disappear yet again back into the very shadows they've pretty much been hiding in since your very own father first exposed them!"

"Ok M, I get it. It was a bad move. But the situation wasn't as black and white as you may think. I had to improvise. Besides, if you read my report you'd know it wasn't my finger behind the trigger. There was a..."

"You think because of _who_ your father is, your somehow... exempt from the rules? That you should be granted special favour, is that it?"

"Actually, now you've asked... I 'think' my _considerably_ successful track record in the field, given the little to _no_ time Ive been operational, should go some way to my proving myself a valid asset, beyond the safe confinement of my fathers name! And, whilst by no means constituting to a 'free pass', should at the very _least_, grant you an opportunity to **cut me some frigging slack!** Sir."

Silence. Awkward as ever.

M calmly takes a seat, shuffling a few random sheets of paper on his desk, before leaning back in his chair, casually and sighing. The atmosphere is palpable.

"You are to report to Psyche Evaluation, immediately." he commands.

"With all due respect M, I don't think that's nes-"

"With all due respect Bond, I don't give a _**damn**_ what you think! It wasn't a request. Dismissed."

I wait a moment or two, purely for effect. Then I get up and silently leave. No last quips or door slamming, just a sharp simple exit.

Of course, I know what's really happening here. M has taken it upon himself to temporarily add 'surrogate father' to his list of duties here at MI6, in absence of my own father. He's worried for my safety. The reason he's been sending me on 'sight seeing' missions, with minimal threat of getting my hands dirty. Good thing I made some 'choice' omissions to my report, namely the 'reptillian cuisine' on Grey's menu.

As for my actual _biological_ father, he was last known to be on a covert mission so secret, his name's barely mentioned anymore. Most I can do to handle his absence is to not think about him myself. Mentally block him from my thoughts. Until eventually, I forget he even exists. Yeah I know, its dark and twisted. But that's the world we live in. And that's how he taught me to live in it.

Damn. Im thinking about him now, aren't I? Gee, how's that plan working out for you, Holly? The trip to The Shrink will set that straight.

Text message comes in.

It's Q.

"Hey Blondie! Come see me if M leaves you the use of your legs. Kinda urgent." reads the message. He always manages to put the closest thing to a smile on my face. Suppose it can't hurt to make a small detour.

To be continued...


	7. Case One: File 7: The Q

FILE HB007/007 - The Q.

MI6 HQ. London.

I take the elevator to the sub-basement level and begin my walk down the long concrete hallway, passing everything from Tech Gyms to Firing Ranges to an olympic-sized Swimming Pool, until I reach the last room on the left. Its somehow darker and more dingy at this end of the corridor, with a thick stench of sulphur dominating the air and walls decorated in more shades of grey than that sick twisted 'pup' from the romance novels could ever dream up!

No, I'm not a fan.

I _am, _however_, _a fan ofQ. Not that I would ever tell him that to his face. Wouldn't risk having his _head_ swell any bigger than it already is. But for a kid roughly my age, he's garnered a considerable amount of respect and praise from just about everyone in the agency, for his relentless pursuit of technological breakthroughs and scientific perfection. Just as his father once did when he was alive.

I, on the other hand, have to fight for even the _merest_ hint of faint praise. Always an uphill struggle even when life is going downhill. Not that Im bitter, of course. Im not. Really.

Eventually, I find myself outside the door to his lab. I could knock, but its always much more fun just storming in. I never know quite what to expect.

"Ok Nerd, what's the 911?" I announce, as I enter.

"Blast, Holly! Don't you ever knock? And don't you mean 999, your in the UK now, remember?" he then begins mumbling to himself. "I could have been doing... _anything_."

"Like... test driving a new pair of _stilettos_ for my next mission?" I quip, seizing an opportunity.

"Too easy, even for you, Holly. Speaking of which, don't suppose you brought anything back from your last one?"

"Like what, a fridge magnet?"

"Like one of my many pieces of expensive tech you departed with?"

"Ah! Sorry, no! But I did, however, make a few notes on some areas ripe for improvement. I can email-"

"Holly, I **told** you they were _prototypes_! How many times-**_whoa!_** That Bourne chick really did a number on you, didn't she?"

His eyes flicker over my bandaged arm and accompanying facial scratches and bruises, wincing at what he sees. I wince internally, at his external wincing.

"I... It's nothing." I tell him, dismissively, turning away.

"Really? Would hate to see what a 'something' looked like!"

"Keep pushing, Nerd, and youll find out!"

"Whoa. Take it your meeting with M was the usual explosive disaster?"

"Of 'Michael Bay' proportions!" I reply, before finally helping myself to a seat. "Now, was there an actual reason you wanted to see me? I've got an important date with a shrink!"

"I... well... just wanted to... know if you'd returned my... stuff." he spurts out, rather cryptically.

"Really? Gee, thanks Nerd. 5 minutes of my life I wont be getting back...!"

Just as i'm about to get up to leave, Q does something out of the ordinary, even for him. Pressing his index finger to his lips, he takes out a ballpoint pen from his top draw and twists the head anti-clockwise, beckoning me forward as he leans towards me.

"Audio wave disrupter! We've got about 60 seconds!" he whispers, before continuing. "MI6 lab-coats claim to be hitting a wall, running the intel you brought back from Costa Rica. Seriously? I built those frigging systems! I'm telling you, something stinks worse than a year-old corpse!"

"Like... a 2 year-old corpse?"

"Im serious, Holly..."

"Come on, Nerd. If your that miffed, get M to let you have a crack at it." I suggest.

"I asked. He declined. Spinning some yarn about 'high level access' and 'sensitivity of the material'... what am I all of a sudden, a rookie?"

"I think your over-reacting. Is your sugar level stable?"

"Something's going on here Holly, a _'behind the scenes'_ something. M's acting weird. Well, weirder than normal... officials I don't recognize are coming and going... so I decided to do some 'scouting around' of my own and ran some of those names we came across through Shadownet! That's when I found-"

"What's a ShadowNet?" I ask.

"It's a 'Juggernaught' programme. A complex algorithm designed to storm through even the most high-end government firewalled defences. It was designed by Berkof, a friend of mine, back when he was working for Division-"

"What's a Division?" I interrupt.

He sighs heavily, before continuing. "Black ops programme, that officially never existed... good guys that turned out to be bad guys only to become good guys... officially... when one of their- look, are you going to keep interrupting me? I don't have much time left! Basically, everything we heard in Puerto Rico was-."

And at that very moment, his pen starts to beep. Three times, in fact.

"Ok, well good luck with the... Shrink meeting!" he says, rising from his chair to attend to one of the many prototype spec-techs that litter his office. Leaving me to ponder what the heck is going on.

Whatever it is, it's something he doesn't want anyone else to hear. Never seen him this highly strung. Whatever the case, I play into his scenario and get up to leave, as normally as possible.

"See you around, Nerd." I tell him.

He doesn't reply. Doesn't even look back. Simply waves his hand dismissively.

I exit the room.

To be continued...


	8. Case One: File 8: The Shrink

**FILE HB007/008 | The Shrink**

I'm sitting in an office in a nearby offsite location, waiting for my post-mission psyche evaluation to begin.

The reason it's _offsite_, is to help operatives '_physiologically distance themselves from 'The Job', in order to better assist in creating a stable mental state of objectivity!'_

At least, that's what it reads in the brochure I'm holding. As I lay there on the office couch, trying, with etiquette, not to mess up my hair.

Meanwhile, my doctor on hand, Dr Aram Mojtabai, is busy retrieving my file from his huge beast of a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Having only been on-mission for the last 4 weeks, it shouldn't be too hard for him to find.

"Ah, here we are!" he announces to himself triumphantly, before slamming the cabinet draw shut and making his way back to his desk. It's a big room, so it's a fairly long walk.

This will be the fourth time he's had the pleasure of my company, in as many months, and he's _still_ no closer to cracking my 'outer-shell', so to speak. In fact, Ive had more success getting under _his_ skin, so I'm guessing he'll want this over with even quicker than I do. Which is perfect, as right now my mind is still on Q. Or more to the point, what he was trying to tell me back in his lab. What could it have been?

"Good afternoon, Agent Bond!" he formally greets me, as he readies himself behind his desk.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Lector." I respond, in my now custom prickly way, before the two of us proceed to engage in our first round of verbal tennis.

"I see you're recent injuries have done nothing to _dampen_ your 'acute' sense of humour, Miss Bond."

"Wait a minute, did you just call me 'cute'?"

"Might I remind you, these confidential sessions are to be taken quite seriously. After all, they _are_ designed with _your_ benefit in mind!"

"Really? And I thought _you_ were the one being paid for them?"

He sighs heavily. "Perhaps we should just begin?"

"Only If we must?"

"I'm afraid, we must."

"Then, let us begin!"

He pauses. Then begins scribbling away on his note pad. I can't see what he's writing, but I'm convinced he's doing nothing more than a crossword puzzle. Or at best, listing a few items to pick up from Tesco's on the way home.

"Now, I'll need you to close your eyes for me, Miss Bond."

"And what, make a wish?"

"And focus. On the sound of my voice and my voice alone. Rid yourself of any and all distractions, both visual and mental. And when you are ready, begin to tell me about... Puerto Rico."

Ok, this is different. And a tad weird. But I decide to play along.

"Well," I begin. " it's a popular choice for American expatriates, who want to retire to the tropics. A Catholic country, where the average life expectancy is 77 years. One of the highest in the world, actually! Only, don't tell _Mr Grey_... I believe he was 76 when he-"

"I was actually _referring_ to your mission?"

"Oh! Of course. The _mission_ in Puerto Rico was largely a success!"

"Largely?"

"Give or take a detail or two."

"Which details?"

"Ok, is this a therapy session or a debrief?"

"Maybe a bit of both? Im just attempting to learn more about the girl behind the name. I understand the report you filed was... _sketchy_, at best. Perhaps some trauma suffered during the mission, unwillingly played a part in the omission of one or two... _critical_ details?"

And it's at that stage, I finally decide enough is enough. What, I've got to sit through all that bull about 'protocol' from my shrink too? Heck no!

And its at _**that**_ point that I open my eyes. Well, _try_ to. Like, _really_ try to. Only to realise I can't. In fact I can't even move. As in, my entire body has seized up, completely non-responsive to the signals my brain is sending out.

"Naturally," continues the shrink. "...given you being the daughter of arguably the greatest spy the world has ever seen, I find it reasonably difficult to believe any amount of trauma could facilitate such butchery of important mission-based detailing... so why don't we just cut straight to the truth, shall we?"

"What... truth... who are you?" I splutter, forcing my eyes open just enough to see I'm alone in the room. The strange toxic compound in the air, slowly filling up my lungs, goes some way to explaining the sudden loss of all basic motor skills and then some.

"if you're who I believe you _really_ are, i'm guessing you would already know!" replies his voice emanating from the intercom speaker situated on his desk. "The only question then to confirm is who... are _you_?"

And that's all I hear. Because the next thing I know is it's lights out.

Question is, am I dead or just unconscious?

To be continued...


	9. Case One: File 9: The Room

**FILE HB007/009 | The Room.**

"The first thing you should know about us, is that we have people everywhere!" Thats what Mr. White told my father when he apprehended his ass, back in 2008.

Who's Mr White?

One of many extremely intelligent, sociopathic and ruthless leaders of Quantum.

What is Quantum?

A shadowy organisation connected to the highest circles of government and corporate power in the world. A.K.A bad guys! Very, very bad guys. Like, if there was a bad guy scale of 1 to 10, they'd be an easy 11. Maybe even a 12. Heck, lets just make it an unlucky '13'.

Who'd have know, nearly 7 years on since my father first exposed them, those same nefarious 'roaches' would still be scurrying around the underbelly of our society?

Guess I should have known.

Darkness.

Voices in my head, asking me questions. No, just _one_ voice. One question. It's the shrink. Can't quite make out what he's saying. Can't move my hands either. Where am I? Need to get my bearings. Need to...

"Wakey-wakey!" the voice teases, before a rush of Ice cold water slaps me hard in the face.

Now I'm awake. Now I'm _mad!_ This was a £127 hairdo and a £465 suit.

"So glad you could join me for today's 'Ice Bucket' challenge!" he gleefully quips, like some lunatic gameshow host. "I understand you've been in this situation before, so you _should_ be quite familiar with how it all works."

"Not gonna feed me some speech about how much you love pets, are you?" I ask, scanning my surroundings.

We're in a room. Alone. 10/10 foot. One door to my left, one window to my right, no furniture in-between. Just the chair I'm sitting on. The bird on the window ledge outside tells me we're at least a few floors up. Arms handcuffed behind my back tell me this isn't part of a normal therapy session.

"Now, Im going to ask you a series of simple questions and do be quite thorough with your answers." he informs me.

"Sure, no problem." I reply. "But could I at least have some _water_ first, my throats a little parched? Preferably in a glass this time."

"What is your _real_ name and purpose at MI6, and what was your _connection_ to Mr Grey?" he asks, cutting straight to the point.

Bulge at the side of his waste, barely visible through his suit jacket, tells me he's more likely packing a firearm than simply happy to see me. But it's holstered. His mistake. I'll only have one crack at this.

"_'Mr_ Grey?" I ask. "That's rather _formal_ isn't it? An 'accomplice' of his, I take it. But then isn't _every_ member of Quantum?"

I'm checking for a reaction, he's trying to mask it. But he'd make a terrible poker player, as he reads like a pop-up book. Something about the mentioning of that name... he's uncomfortable with. Not sure where he's going with _his_ line of questioning, though.

Either way, I need him to come closer.

"You really _are_ quite a beautiful girl." he observes.

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"And whilst it would be a shame to **destroy** such a pretty little face, be certain I have absolutely _no_ reservations in doing so. So I will ask you... one... last... time."

Need him to come closer, leave no room for error. I'll have around 7 seconds to make my play before whoever is _probably_ watching, storms into the room.

"What is your _real_ name and purpose at MI6?" he asks again.

I slowly tilt my head down low and mumble something inaudibly.

"What was that? Speak up!" he says, agitatedly leaning in slightly, hands on his hips. Closer. I need him to come closer. I murmur once more.

"You, dear girl, are stretching my patience _way_ beyond its limitations..." he barks, as he storms over to me and leans in real close. Perfection.

I lift my head with as much force as I can muster, catching him in his left eye. He's dazed and stumbles backwards, momentarily in shock.

7 seconds. Need to make them count.

I crack my left thumb out of its joint and slide the hand out of the cuffs.

5 seconds.

The pain's sharp, but I use it, and follow up my attack with a swift palm strike to his nose. A cracking sound echoes around the room, followed by a jingling of keys in the lock of the rooms door.

3 seconds.

Twirling the cuffs around his neck, I hoist him up onto my back and begin chocking him. He's trying to tell me something, but I'm not interested. Had your chance, mate.

1 second.

The door bursts open and I spin his half-chocked, spluttering body around to use as a make-shift shield, whipping his gun out from under him in the process. Just in time to line up the next attacker in my sights, M.

Wait a minute, M?

"Holly! That's enough." he screams pointing his weapon at me. "Stand down, and let me explain!"

This should be good.

This _better_ be good.

To be continued...


End file.
